Dirty Little Secret
by ProcrastinatingPalindrome
Summary: Russia struggles with his shameful obsession with America's blue jeans. Crack-fic.


((AN: This is really stupid. I'm sorry.))

Everyone was allowed to have a weakness, weren't they? England had his knitting, America had his awful movies, China had his small army of ugly stuffed animals and France had his wild sex parties (which he never invited Russia to, that bastard), so Russia was allowed some little vice too, wasn't he? Well, other than vodka. Vodka didn't count.

The thought didn't do much to cheer him up as he slunked through the darkened streets, tugging his scarf up to conceal his face. He knew what he was doing was wrong. Dirty. Shameful. Worst still, it was..._capitalist._ But he couldn't help himself! He had to get his fix! Oh, Lenin would be so disappointed if he could see his country now...

Russia finally spotted the man he was looking for, half hidden in an alley, and darted over quickly, hoping he hadn't been seen.

"Evening, comrade. Do you have the...um...product?" he whispered to the man, eying the bundle he was holding hopefully.

"Of course. And do you have the money?" the man asked, a little louder than Russia would have liked.

"How much did you say it was again?" The man muttered a number and Russia nearly choked.

"I've got a lot of potential customers who'd pay that and be grateful," the man said in a flat, I-don't-negotiate-prices voice.

"Nyet, I'll pay!" Russia blurted out, hating himself as he fumbled the money out of his pockets. This was so wrong...but then the man passed over the package and Russia decided he didn't mind being wrong. He peeled back a corner of the brown paper, just to take a quick peek, and sighed happily when he saw the blue denim. Unable to stop himself, he ran a finger over the material. Ah, just touching them sent a tiny, pleasant shiver down his spine. He could hardly wait to try them on back at home.

The guilty little secret was tucked away in his coat, and he started the trek back home. Blue jeans...America's blue jeans. Why did they have to be so tempting? They were the very symbol of Western decadence! They were everything he stood against! There was a very good reason why they were banned, and yet...much as he hated to admit it, Russia really loved that stupid capitalist pig's pants. There was just something about the cut and the color and the _texture_...he couldn't resist. He was disgusted with himself stooping to buying those insanely overpriced pants through the black market, but he just couldn't get those damn things out of his head.

The house was thankfully dark and quiet when Russia arrived; for once, he hoped that his Baltics had turned in early for the night. He shut the door to his bedroom, pulled down the shades and switched on only one very small and hopefully unnoticeable light before kicking off his boots and stripping down to his briefs. Those alluring jeans sat innocently on his bed, calling to him. He sighed and surrendered, holding them up admiringly before slowly pulling them on. The feel of them on his legs was divine, almost arousing...well, no, if he was to be honest, it _was_ a tiny bit arousing. But only a little! And he was definitely not thinking about America while he was trying on said country's pants. Absolutely not. Especially not how America's legs looked when he was wearing those evil blue jeans, or how they fit his waist so nicely, and how Russia was now slowly pulling those same kind of jeans up over his knees...right. He wasn't thinking about that at all. And even if he was, that was _not_ the reason he was getting a little turned on.

They were a bit...snug, he had to admit. The way they pinched his legs wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it was getting more and more difficult to pull them up. He had to resort to an awkward wiggling shuffle to get them over his hips, but finally they were on. Well, almost. He took a deep breath and tried to pull in his stomach, tugging at the zipper. Nothing. It wouldn't budge. He frowned at the offending object, and turned his attention to the button. He struggled and tugged and held his breath, but...still no luck. The pants still hung open over his protruding gut. The horrible truth was starting to sink in. He had just spent a small fortune on a pair of pants _that didn't fit._

The shear injustice of it all made him see red. It wasn't fair! Why couldn't he ever have what he wanted? It was America's fault! His pants had seduced him! No one makes a fool of Russia!

Unfortunately there was no one around for him to direct his rage at, so he did the next best thing; he grabbed the first heavy object his hand landed on (an ugly paper weight shaped like a bear) and chucked it at the wall as hard as he could. It added one more deep dent into the plaster; it was far from the only time he had thrown something at that wall in a fit of anger, but it _was_ the first time he had done so over a pair of pants. The satisfying 'thunk' made him feel a little bit better...but the sudden foot steps outside his door turned his blood cold.

There was a knock, and then, "Russia? Sir, are you alright? I heard a noise-"

"It's nothing, Lithuania!" Russia called back frantically, struggling to pull the jeans down. As hard as they were to get on, they were even tougher to get off! "Don't come in, I-I am fine!"

To his horror, the door creaked open (why had he forgotten to lock it, why?!) and Lithuania peeked in. Russia froze, jeans still half-way up his thighs. There was a long, awful silence. Lithuania just stared at him, and then said, "Um."

"You will tell no one," Russia snarled in his most threatening voice, still trying to get those damned jeans off.

"Uh," said Lithuania.

"_You will tell no one_."

"Are those Levi's?"

Russia stopped. How could Lithuania tell with just one look?

"W-well," the smaller country said slowly, looking back and forth from Russia's face to the offending pants. "They look a little too...er, small. N-not to say that you're too big or anything!" he quickly added when Russia's expression darkened. "But, um...maybe I could exchange them for a larger size? I know a man who sells jeans, he'll probably let us trade them in for a small price."

"How do you know this, Lithuania?" Russia asked suspiciously. "Have you been buying jeans?"

"Ah, well...they are nice and durable-"

"They are banned, Lithuania."

Lithuania, to his credit, didn't say anything. He just looked at the blue jeans that were still hugging Russia's legs. The larger country decided to let it go.

"So your...friend can find me jeans that fit, da?"

Historical Notes: Jeans were banned for a while in the USSR (mostly for being too Western.) Of course, if you want to make something freakishly popular, the first thing you should do is ban it. People would pay a ton of money to get smuggled jeans through the black market, and there are stories of people bothering American tourists to try to buy the very jeans they were wearing off them.


End file.
